


in your black heart (is where you'll find me)

by notcaycepollard



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fluff, M/M, Pet Names
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-24
Updated: 2017-03-24
Packaged: 2018-10-10 00:38:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10425369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notcaycepollard/pseuds/notcaycepollard
Summary: “Hey,” he tries, “hey darlin’, can you pass me the milk?”“Oh sure,” Sam responds after a long pause. “Here you go.Sweetie.”“Thanks, hon, you’re a real doll,” Bucky drawls, and pours himself another bowl of cereal, tops up his coffee, takes a mouthful of milk straight from the carton just for good measure. Sam narrows his eyes.“That’s disgusting,” he sighs, and Bucky makes deliberate eye contact, swallows another mouthful. Sam holds his gaze. “Cupcake, come on, I gotta drink that shit, stop putting your mouth all over it.”“I’ll put my mouth all over wherever I want,” Bucky tells him. “Sweetheart.”“Will you just,” Sam mutters, and sips his black coffee like he’s totally unruffled, and Bucky is startled to discover that he’s the one who’s blushing. Shit. Maybe this was a tactical error.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [in your black heart (is where you'll find me)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10600176) by [SimpsonJr](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SimpsonJr/pseuds/SimpsonJr)



Bucky starts it. He’s okay with admitting that. He’s enough of a jerk he wants to get under Wilson’s skin, maybe, to pick at him until Sam bickers back, but the only time he tries an actual insult Sam just rolls his eyes and Steve clears his throat real meaningfully. Bucky doesn’t give a shit about Steve telling him off, but if insults aren’t gonna get a reaction out of Wilson, there’s pretty much no point, so. He regroups, and considers Sam from behind his hair.

“Hey,” he tries, “hey darlin’, can you pass me the milk?” Sam glances at him.

“You talking to me?”

“Yeah, sugar,” Bucky says, and grins at Sam with all his teeth showing. He catches the muscle working in Sam’s jaw as he clenches his teeth. Perfect.

“Oh sure,” Sam responds after a long pause. “Here you go. _Sweetie_.”

“Thanks, hon, you’re a real doll,” Bucky drawls, and pours himself another bowl of cereal, tops up his coffee, takes a mouthful of milk straight from the carton just for good measure. Sam narrows his eyes.

“That’s disgusting,” he sighs, and Bucky makes deliberate eye contact, swallows another mouthful. Sam holds his gaze. “Cupcake, come on, I gotta drink that shit, stop putting your mouth all over it.”

“I’ll put my mouth all over wherever I want,” Bucky tells him. “Sweetheart.”

“Will you just,” Sam mutters, and sips his black coffee like he’s totally unruffled, and Bucky is startled to discover that he’s the one who’s blushing. Shit. Maybe this was a tactical error. “You know I got first dibs on the shower,” Sam adds, “that’s okay, right, you got a lot of cereal to eat, huh baby. I’ll try and leave you some hot water.”

“Asshole,” Bucky growls, and Sam grins back at him exactly as if he’s been waiting for Bucky to take the bait and bite. Steve doesn’t even tell Sam off. It’s real unfair, is what it is.

 

The next morning Bucky thinks maybe he's got to try another angle, right up until Wilson raises his eyebrows and looks Bucky up and down all considering. Stares at Bucky's wet hair for way too long.

“You get hot water this time, pumpkin?”

“No,” Bucky snaps. “Someone used it all up.”

“Hey, it wasn't me, I haven't even showered yet,” Sam says, and then the both of them turn to Steve. “You fucker,” Sam tells Steve, “you jerk, Steve Rogers.” Steve blinks at them like he doesn't even know what he did.

“Sorry,” he says, and grabs his phone, leaves the room. Probably making actual important tactical calls, which is just fine, because that means Bucky doesn’t have to deal with it.

“If you wait an hour there'll probably be enough for five minutes,” Bucky offers, and Sam sighs, sits back in his chair.

“Yeah, okay. Put more coffee on, would you?”

“Sure thing, sweetcheeks,” Bucky says, and catches the way Sam glances over at him. He can't help but look back, leaning against the kitchen counter and staring at Wilson as blatantly as he can. He's not bad-looking, Bucky has to admit. Nice face, nice muscles, and right now he's appealingly sweaty from his morning run.

Oh fuck. Bucky evaluates that thought and immediately deletes ‘appealingly sweaty’ as a phrase ever associated with Sam Wilson.

“We're out of milk,” he says, accusingly. Sam shrugs. Gets up from the table to put his plate in the dishwasher.

“Good thing I like my coffee black then, honey.”

“You're such an asshole,” Bucky mutters under his breath, and Sam’s eyebrows go up again.

“You're real bad at this, you know that?” he murmurs, leaning in close. Bucky can smell his sweat. It's not a bad smell. If he's being honest, he wouldn't mind leaning in closer. Sam's breath is hot against his ear. “You wanna start something, you gotta commit to it, sugar.” Bucky grits his teeth, tries not to react. It's true, goddamn it, which makes it even more infuriating. He started this and it's immediately gone sideways and he's got no idea what the shit Wilson is doing, except also.

Except _also_ , he kind of likes it.

“Enjoy your cold shower, gorgeous,” he says, forcing himself to drawl it like it's easy, and makes himself eggs since there's no milk for cereal. Sam just drinks his coffee and watches, the whole fucking time.

 

Bucky keeps trying, because he’s never been a quitter, and over the next week they escalate from _honey_ and _sweetheart_ and _darling_ , muttering at each other whenever they’re in earshot and Steve’s far enough away he won’t catch them.

“Morning, lambkin,” Bucky says, pushing coffee across the table, and Sam smiles a little.

“Hey, buttercup.”

Bucky frowns. It’d taken him _half an hour_ to come up with ‘lambkin’, and he has to admit _buttercup_ is a good one. Sam smirks at him, and Bucky lounges back in his chair, chews his food with his mouth open.

“You’re disgusting,” Sam tells him, “you’re a deeply disgusting person, I hope you know that.”

“I dunno,” Bucky shrugs, “Steve likes me.”

“ _Steve_ got hit on the head too many times,” Sam mutters, “his opinions aren’t worth shit.”

“Lotta people used to think I was real smooth, Wilson,” Bucky says, and tilts his head sideways, lowers his lashes until he’s looking up at Sam with the kind of hooded gaze that always worked back in the thirties. Sam just looks unimpressed.

“Guess they had lower standards back then, huh, petal,” he says, and Bucky cackles before he can catch himself, because Sam’s easy disdain for him is so fucking fun he can’t resist. Sam slides into his seat, drinks his coffee and _grins_ at Bucky over the rim of the mug, and for a moment, Bucky thinks maybe he’s not getting under Sam’s skin, exactly, but this is still pretty good regardless. Then Steve comes in, and they both pull themselves into a less relaxed posture, side-eye each other. Steve sighs.

“Jesus Christ, the two of you. You're like cats who refuse to get along, I swear. Sam, _really_?”

“We’re fine,” Sam says. “We’re good. Aren’t we, sunshine?”

“Yeah,” Bucky agrees. “Yeah, Steve, we’re totally fine,” and then he kicks Sam under the table just to keep up appearances.

 

He wants to say he doesn't know when he and Sam reached a truce, but that’s a lie. Bucky can pinpoint exactly the moment.

It’s somewhere around two and he’s most of the way asleep, warm and comfortable, even content with his life, when he hears Sam cry out from the next room. He’s up and out of bed before he even realizes consciously what’s going on.

“Hey,” he says anyway. Soft, gentle, trying to wake Sam up without startling him more. “Sam. You’re just having a bad dream, darlin’, come on. Wake up.” Sam comes out of the nightmare gasping, eyes unfocused. Grabs at Bucky’s wrist instinctively, and Bucky lets him cling tight, sits down on the edge of the bed and watches Sam slowly drag himself awake.

“Oh,” he mutters eventually, “Jesus, sorry.” Lets go of Bucky’s hand, rubs his face.

“Hey,” Bucky says, “it’s fine. Sweetheart, you’re just fine. You want a drink? Hot cocoa?”

“I… yeah, okay,” Sam agrees. “Yeah, that’d be. Nice, I guess.”

Bucky makes it quietly, whisking milk and hot cocoa mix together in a pan and heating it on the stove. Glances back at Sam sitting at the kitchen table.

“You want to talk about it?” he asks, pouring the cocoa into two mugs, and Sam looks up, shakes his head.

“Not really,” he admits. “It’s just. Same old, same old, you know?”

Yeah. Bucky knows.

He passes Sam one of the mugs. Presses his palm flat between Sam’s shoulder blades, just for a minute, and feels Sam release all the tension he’s holding. They drink their cocoa in silence, the soft light from the kitchen just touching the edges of Sam’s face. Highlighting the curve of his cheek.

“Hey,” Sam says when they’re done, as they’re heading back into their respective bedrooms. “Thanks, Bucky. It helped.”

“Yeah,” Bucky says, “no problem.”

It really is no problem. It’s just.

It’s just, he kind of doesn’t want to get on Sam’s nerves after that, exactly.

 

Regardless of the détente they’ve apparently reached thanks to bonding through trauma dreams and hot cocoa, they still got a morning ritual, that’s for fucking sure. It’s ever reliable. If Bucky’s thinking about it, which he ain’t, he’d be kind of sad to lose it, even.

“Mornin’ darlin’,” Bucky mutters, still about three-quarters asleep as he shuffles to the coffee machine. Touches Sam's shoulder on the way past.

“Yeah, morning, sugar,” Sam says. Watches Bucky fiddle with the machine. “You better be making a cup for me.”

“My sweet bird prince,” Bucky says, tone wounded. “When do I ever not?”

“Every fucking morning,” Sam tells him, even as Bucky slides a cup of coffee along the bench. Black coffee, one sugar, just how Sam likes it.

“Steve take all the—”

“Hot water? Yeah. Fucking a _gain_.”

“Asshole,” Bucky mutters into his cup. “You wanna move back to Romania with me, or what? My apartment might have been a piece of shit but lemme tell you, I hooked up the hot water good, okay.”

“That offer is honestly getting more and more appealing,” Sam admits. “You want oatmeal? Figured I’d make a pot while I wait.”

“Yeah,” Bucky says, thoughtful. “Why not.”

It's only when someone coughs that they realize they’ve been observed this whole time. Bucky looks up. Glares at Natasha through his hair.

“Boys,” she says, bored. “You’re getting on well.”

“Shit, don’t tell Steve,” Bucky says, before he can think better of it. Natasha stops looking bored and starts smirking so hard he feels actually kind of uncomfortable. It’s impressive, if he’s being honest.

 

The first time Steve goes back on mission, Bucky distracts himself, or tries to. It doesn't exactly work.

“Hey, princess,” Sam says easily. Flops down next to Bucky on the couch. “Whatcha watching?”

 _Princess,_ Bucky mouths to himself, appalled. “It's, uh. Some cartoon. Clint said his kids love it.” One episode later, Sam's feet are tucked under Bucky's thigh. Three episodes later, Sam's got his head leaning on Bucky's shoulder and a bowl of popcorn between them. Six episodes later, Bucky's knee is hooked over the arm of the couch and his head is in Sam's lap so Sam can braid his hair.

“You wanna watch another?” Sam asks when the episode ends. Bucky yawns.

“Time is it?”

“I dunno. One, maybe.”

“Yeah, go on.” Steve's not home yet, is what neither of them are saying, and maybe neither of them want to sleep just yet. Just in case, this carefully nameless fear. Sam hits play, lets his thumb brush soft over Bucky's forehead, the little wispy hairs he hasn't been able to pull into the braid. Bucky sighs, wriggles a little. Gets more comfortable.

Steve gets back just after two, and stands in the doorway of the living room for longer than Bucky would usually take to notice him. Bucky yawns again, wide. Stretches. Settles back into Sam's lap, and feels Sam jerk awake.

“Oh, hey, Steve,” Sam says, sleepy-quiet like maybe he's been dozing through the last episode.

“I see you two made yourself comfortable while I was out,” Steve says, dry. Squints at them. “You've got popcorn in your hair, Buck.”

“It's a crown,” Sam says as if that's obvious. “Didn't have any flowers.”

“Right,” Steve agrees. “Right. You know what, I don't even want to know,” and Bucky thinks he should protest, maybe, but he's warm and cosy and he really just doesn't want to move.

“Come on, my little peach pie,” Sam says. Pats Bucky's cheek. “You gotta shift if I'm gonna go to bed.”

“Why,” Bucky grumbles. Lets his eyes slide closed. “Let's just sleep here. I'm comfortable.”

“You'll be more comfortable in a bed,” Sam murmurs, laughing a little and cupping a hand under Bucky's head, the nape of his neck, propping him up until he's sitting. Bucky makes a small and disgruntled noise. When he opens his eyes, Steve's looking at the both of them, looking all weird and tender and full of soft emotions.

Bucky just yawns again, can't stop, yawns until he cracks his jaw. Stumbles off to bed. Forgets to pick the popcorn out of his hair.

 

When he gets up, Clint is in their kitchen looking underslept and cranky, but Bucky knows that's Clint’s natural state of being at this point so he doesn't pay too much attention. Just gets a pot of coffee brewing, waits for Sam to show up. He didn't run today, Bucky's pretty certain, and sure enough, Sam appears all sleep-rumpled and cute in a soft t-shirt and grey sweatpants. He's rubbing at his face, clearly not awake quite yet, and Bucky's heart does something odd in his chest.

“Hey sweetheart,” Bucky says. “Hot water's out again.”

“Oh, for _shits sake_ ,” Sam mutters. Bucky grimaces in sympathy.

“You want coffee while you wait?”

“Yeah, okay,” Sam agrees, and Bucky pours him a cup, hands it to him and grabs the jar of grinds to put on another pot. “Thanks, baby.”

“No problem,” Bucky says easily. Steadies himself with a palm pressed to Sam’s back as he reaches for the machine.

“Oh, jeez,” Clint sighs. “That sure didn’t take long.”

“What?” Sam asks, distracted, and Clint frowns.

“You two,” Clint says like it’s obvious. Sam frowns.

“Us two what?”

“You gave up pulling each other’s pigtails, clearly.”

Bucky joins in the frowning. “We what?”

“You’re…” Clint gestures with his spoon, a wide arc in the air between the two of them. “ _That_ , is what.”

Sam looks at Bucky. Bucky looks at Sam. Both of them start laughing at once.

“We’re,” Sam gets out, “we’re— you think we’re _dating_?”

“Fucking, was what I was gonna say,” Clint shrugs. “But sure, dating, enh, same difference.”

“It’s not,” Bucky says, “and also, we’re not, and also, what the hell, Barton?”

“Don’t even try,” Clint tells them, rolling his eyes. “You just called Wilson _sweetheart_ , Barnes, do not even try.”

“No, that was a-” _A joke_ , Bucky wants to say, _a prank, me fucking with Wilson_ , except voicing it feels like it'll make it sound a hundred times pettier. Suddenly he remembers Steve's expression the night before. Oh. _Oh._

“Whatever,” Sam says, dismissive. “Don't make a big deal about it, Barton.” And then he sips his coffee, gives Bucky this cheeky little look, and abruptly Bucky cannot fucking _breathe_ with how good Sam looks.

“Fine, okay,” Clint shrugs. “What the fuck is in your hair, Barnes?”

“Sam braided popcorn into it,” Bucky tells him. Sam snickers.

“It seemed like a good idea last night,” he says, and grins, and Bucky's still having problems with how goddamn beautiful Sam Wilson is. This is an _issue_. Fuck. Fucking fuck.

 

The _next_ morning, Sam's already up when Bucky gets in.

“Morning, angelface,” he says, easy. Hands Bucky his coffee, and oh, it's good, it's _perfect_ , Sam gets his coffee better than he gets it himself.

“Uh,” he says. “Morning, Wilson.” Sam squints at him.

“You feeling okay?”

“Yeah,” Bucky says, unconvincingly. “I'm fine. I'm gonna, uh. Take a shower before Steve gets back from his run.” He puts his coffee down on the counter, his whole body screaming at him like it's furious he's passing up caffeine when it's exactly the perfect temperature and sweetness. Hightails it into the hallway, trying not to make eye contact.

It's. It's _stupid_ , fuck, he feels dumb about it. The dread and terrifying Winter Soldier, and here he is trying to catch his breath because he's just suddenly remembered that such things exist in the world as _crushes_. Fucksake, what is he, a teenager?

There are footsteps behind him in the hall. Sam's hand, warm between his shoulder blades.

“My sweet little plum. Birdsong of my morning. What's wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” Bucky says, still unconvincingly. Wants to shrug Sam's hand off, only that seems. Rude, maybe. It ain't _Sam's_ fault that Bucky's overthinking this.

“Is it about what Clint said?” Sam asks, too insightful, and Bucky sighs.

“I—” he starts, and Sam draws in a breath.

“You know they're just being little shits, right? Just messing with us? If it bothers you, them thinking it… I dunno, I kind of like where we got to. Friends, right? Even though you destroyed my car and my wings, you asshole.”

He doesn't get any further. He doesn't get any further, because Bucky is kissing him, hard and desperate. Sam makes a shocked noise against his mouth. Freezes for a second or two, and Bucky's beginning to think _oh fuck_ , when Sam grabs Bucky by the shirt, drags him in against the wall for a kiss that turns filthy real quick.

“Jesus,” he gets out when Bucky backs away enough to let him breathe. “Shit, if I'd known calling you an asshole would get you to do _that_ , I would have bypassed all the pet names shit.”

“Nah,” Bucky tells him, “you wouldn't have.”

“No, I wouldn't,” Sam agrees. “Baby, I really wouldn't. You still gonna try and beat Steve to the shower, or…”

“Fuck the shower,” Bucky growls, and Sam grins, gets his hand up under Bucky’s shirt.

 

The morning after that, they don't make it out of bed at all.

**Author's Note:**

> clearing out my drafts, this has been haunting me for so long i have no metric on whether it's good anymore but it's the logical end-point of pet names, so
> 
> join me [on tumblr](http://notcaycepollard.tumblr.com/)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] In Your Black Heart (Is Where You'll Find Me)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13267683) by [Lucifuge5](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lucifuge5/pseuds/Lucifuge5)




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